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/ 7 ., . : ; 

J l * U/ISf /.^ s ****rpr~* 


A SERMON- 

4 

PREACHED ON THE SEVENTEENTH OF MARCH, 


IX THE 


* 


IRISH FRANCISCAN CHURCH OF S. ISIDORE 


IN ROME, 

AND DEDICATED BY PERMISSION 

TO HIS EMINENCE 


*• THE CARDINAL DELLA SOMAGJLIA, 

BISHOP OP OSTIA AND VELETRI, DEAN OP THE SACKED 
COLLEGE, VICE CHANCELLOR, &C. &C. &C, 


BY THE REVEREND 

W ILLIAM VINCENT HAROLD, 

Rector of the Irish Dominican College of Corpo Santo at Lisbon, 


ROME: 

PRINTED AT THE PROPAGANDA PRESS, BY FRANCIS BOURLIE, 

1821 , 

With Permission: 

AND 

PHILADELPHIA, 

RE-PRINTED BY BERNARD DORNIN, 












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MOST EMINENT 

AND 

MOST REVEREND LORD, 

When your eminence permitted me to dedicate to 
you this tribute of filial gratitude to the memory of the 
Apostle of Ireland, I felt that act of condescension as 
my country will feel it, not as a mark of your attention 
to an individual, obscure as myself, but as a proof of 
your regard for a church, which heresy never tainted, 
which schism never divided, which in ages of dark¬ 
ness was a beacon of light and safety to nations, and 
in ages of persecution, a rock, immoveable as that on 
which Christ built his Church. Standing nearest to 
the Chair of Peter, which your wisdom supports and 
your virtues adorn, you, most eminent Lord, are the 
natural patron of Apostolic zeal, and the Church of 
Ireland can yield to no other, her well earned claim to 
your protection and esteem. My Countrymen will 
feel as I do, that you have added a fresh wreath to 
the crown of their Apostle, and will unite with all 
good men, in praying the Prince of pastors and Lord 
of life, that he may continue to his Church, for many 
years, the aid which she derives from your great mind 



t 4 ] 

and splendid virtues, so necessary both as a security 
and an example in these disastrous times. Deign, most 
eminent and most reverend Lord, to accept the sincere 
assurance of lasting gratitude and profound veneration 
from 

Your Eminence’s 

Most humble servant, 

WILLIAM VINCENT HAROLD 


A SERMON, tye. 


Non vos me elegistis , sed ego eligi vos , et posui vos , tit ect/is etfrue- 
turn afferatis , et fructus vester maneat , et quodcunque pctieritk 
Patrem in nomine mco , detvobis. Joannis, cap. 15. v. 16. 

low have not chosen me , I have chosen you , and have appointed 

you, that you should go, and should bring forth fruit, and your 
fruit should remain , that whatever you shall ask of the Father in 
7 ny name , he may grant it you, John c. 15. v. 16. 

Tiie first proselytes to Christianity might have been tempted 
to attribute to themselves some merit for having embraced a cause 
which doomed them to poverty, to persecution, to contempt, to 
danger and misery under every form. Pride so intertwines itself 
In every act and every thought of man; the feeling of self appro¬ 
bation is so artfully blended with our best actions, that light from 
Heaven is required, and no other can enable us to discover our 
imperfections, and distinguish the true grain of virtue from the 
chaff of vanity, whose emptiness is impervious to the dull and car¬ 
nal eye of man. Christ, who knew the human heart, and came to 
guard us against its weakness, tells his followers—“ You have not 
chosen me”—No man can come to me, except the Father, “ who 
hath sent me, draw him.” This is the deep and firm foundation 
on which the edifice of Christianity is raised. If our nature, un¬ 
aided and uninspired, could approach to God, the great work of 
redemption would have been a work without an object, and the 
crown of justice, and of glory, instead of being regarded as the 
gratuitous gift of mercy, should be considered as a remuneration 
to which man was strictly entitled. If our nature could, by its 
own sufficiency, rise from its fall, and reestablish its correspon¬ 
dence with Heaven, the great wisdom and almost stainless virtue 
of many amongst the Pagans would have done so—But experience 






t 6 j 

has confirmed the declaration of St. Paul, “ that all our sufficiency 
is from God,” and that merely human wisdom, merely human vir¬ 
tue is shallow, vapid, and unavailing. How far better is this wise 
humility of the Apostle, than the impious arrogance of the most 
enlightened man the pagan world ever produced? “ Deservedly,” 
said Cicero, “ are we praised for our virtues; justly do we glory 
“ in them, but who ever considered virtue as a gift from God? 
w What good man ever thanked the gods for his goodness? We 
u confess Jove the greatest and the best, not that we are indebted 
“ to him for justice, temperance, or wisdom, but that he has given 
a us wealth, security, and abundance.” These are the sentiments 
of a great philosopher, not uttered rashly and unguardedly, but af¬ 
ter mature and deliberate meditation, recorded in his work on the 
nature of the gods. So much for pagan wisdom, and merely hu¬ 
man virtue. 

Our Divine Redeemer, having established the dependance of 
man on his Maker, tells his Apostles “ I have chosen you.”—What 
our frail and fallen nature could not attempt, the Deity has effect¬ 
ed. Man could not rise to Heaven; but the mercy of his Maker 
stooped to lift him. ct I have chosen you and appointed you.” 
Invested with my authority, accredited by my choice, you are to 
appear before men as the representatives of their God. You are 
no longer to speak in the name, or according to the wisdom of 
man. You are to deliver the commands, and maintain the au¬ 
thority of your Master. u I have chosen and appointed you,” not 
merely to the good work of your individual sanctification, but to the 
better and higher office of the apostolic charge. You must not re¬ 
tire into solitude, nor hide that light which came from Heaven, not 
to guide you alone. “ I have appointed you to go.”—You must 
ascend the mountain. You must move like pillars of light through 
a benighted world, like Jesus of Nazareth you must go about, 
4C doing good.” Here the Apostle will see the source of his au¬ 
thority, the form of his commission, the nature of his service, the 
fruits of his victory. “ I have appointed you, that you should go, 
<c and bring forth fruit and that your fruit should remain.” His 
divine appointment is the only source of apostolic power; the only 
security for its success. No man uncommissioned by God, should 
presume to speak in his name, and if he do, the imposition will 




i 7 ] 

be detected and his arrogance will be humbled by a fruitless la¬ 
bour. Such men the Apostles have described as u clouds with- 
u out w r ater, tossed about by the winds”—as “ trees of the au- 
u tumn unfruitful and twice dead”—as “ wandering stars”—as 
u waves of the sea foaming out their own confusion.” Self-crea¬ 
ted Apostles, like the fools of Babel, have sought to ascend to 
Heaven by the work of human hands; but when they fancied their 
tower just completed, and Heaven within their reach, the curse 
of pride fell amongst them; no one could understand the other; con¬ 
fusion, division, dispersion w r as the result of their toil. Such is 
the origin, such the progress and such the fruit of unauthorized 
preaching. Our Divine Redeemer, not only constitutes his Apos¬ 
tles the interpreters of his will, and the organs of his divine com¬ 
munications to man, but he appoints them the instruments of his 
mercy; he permits them to pledge the word and authority of their 
Sovereign, and binds himself to ratify what they in their public 
character shall have engaged. Knowing the trembling anxiety 
of an Apostle’s fears, lest that, which had cost him so much toil, 
should perish; lest those children, whose spiritual growth he had 
watched with more than a mother’s tenderness, should degenerate, 
he quiets such fears, and removes such apprehensions by this 
cheering assurance, that u whatsoever they should ask of the fa¬ 
ther in his name, he will give it them.” The very nature and 
object of the apostolic office, implies its continuance. The im¬ 
perishable spirit of Christianity must raise up men to spread the 
light of its doctrine, until the mystery of redemption shall have 
been revealed to every portion of the human race. He who com¬ 
manded the Gospel to be preached to all nations, did not confine 
that order to his first disciples; the execution of that command 
must be commensurate with the extent of the earth and the dura¬ 
tion of time. The occasion which has collected us here this day, 
presents to us one of the most splendid examples of apostolic vir¬ 
tue, which the history of the church has recorded. I do not know 
that since the days of the Apostles there has appeared a more strik¬ 
ing illustration of my text, than may be found in the life and la¬ 
bours of the great Apostle of Ireland. We shall see him surround¬ 
ed by all the attributes of the apostolic character; that he was 
chosen by God—that he brought forth fruit—that his fruit has re- 



[ 8 J 

mained, are truths which it has become my duty to demonstrate 
this day. That I shall do so in a manner worthy of our illustrious 
patron and apostle, I do not presume to think. To do justice to 
such a subject belongs to talent of the highest order. I have 
nothing to entitle me to your indulgence and attention, but that I 
feel, in common with you, the most profound veneration for that 
distinguished Saint, who carried the best of blessings, Christianity, 
to our country. 

To form a just estimate of the apostolic character, we must 
feel the blessings which result from the Apostle’s labours. Ac¬ 
customed as we are to live amongst Christians, we enjoy these 
blessings, without seeming to know, or wishing to inquire whence 
they came, or to what cause they are to be attributed. We go 
to history for information, which we should find in our hearts. 
We never reflect what we should have been, had not the mercy of 
the Almighty called us from darkness to light. We forget that 
our best happiness here, and all our hopes of happiness hereafter, 
originate in religion. That without it, misery could have no al¬ 
leviation, power no controul, life no security, passion no effectual 
restraint, man no real dignity; that he would live like a de¬ 
mon, and expire like a brute. Such was the general state of 
mankind when Christianity appeared, and the Apostles called the 
world from moral death and degrading superstition to life, and 
light, and immortality—when Christians began to act what phi¬ 
losophers could only teach—when the martyrs gave a lesson of 
fortitude, of which the history of the brave had furnished no ex¬ 
ample—when the followers of the Cross taught mankind to re¬ 
quite injuries with blessings, to redress their wrongs by taking 
their enemies to their bosoms—when peace, and humility, and 
meekness softened and civilized the world—when the universal 
church of Christ displayed all the charities of a private family— 
when the Apostle could say to the followers of his Master— 
“ Concerning fraternal charity, I have no need to write to you, 
u for you yourselves have learned of God to love one another.” 
This benevolent religion was extending its influence and its bless¬ 
ings through the earth, and had already realized the most san¬ 
guine wishes of its followers, when that Almighty Being, who 
holds in his hands the fate and fortune of nations, whose ways 



[ 9 ] 

are wisdom and whose will is mercy, permitted this brilliant pic¬ 
ture to be obscured, and checked for a time the brightest hopes 
of man. Christianity had now become the religion of the civili¬ 
zed world—a Christian sat on the imperial throne of Rome. But 
lest it might be said, the gospel required any other support than 
the word of him who gave it, heaven decreed, that the empire of 
Rome should perish, and the throne of the Caesars should moulder 
into ruins—lest it might be said, that science had lighted the gos¬ 
pel to its conquests, the Deity permitted the torch of science to 
be extinguished, aneb that barbarism should rule, where letters 
and civiliztion had flourished. The uncultivated nations of the 
north, presented themselves as the ready instruments of his in¬ 
scrutable decrees. They burst through the barriers which disci¬ 
pline had placed before them, and the laurels of Rome withered 
in the presence of these ferocious savages. Rapid and irresisti¬ 
ble, like the torrents from their mountains, they spread ruin and 
devastation, where peace and security had taken up their dwell¬ 
ing. Dark as the woods from which they issued, they despised 
that science, which proved powerless to resist them. Nurtured 
in blood, knowing no law but force, no pleasure but revenge, they 
hated a religion whose fruit is peace, whose first and ruling prin¬ 
ciple is charity. They abhorred the gospel more than the Ro¬ 
man. The latter could not meet their force, the former yet con¬ 
tended with those passions which gave to their force its most de¬ 
stroying impulse. Such was the state of Europe in the beginning 
of the fifth century. 

The Vandals had obtained possession of Africa, and that dis¬ 
tinguished portion of the fold of Christ, then governed by more 
than 400 Bishops—that church which had given to religion and 
to science, a Cyprian, a Tertullian, and an Austin, expired under 
the brutal government of these merciless conquerors. The Franks 
under Clovis had effected the conquest of Gaul—the Goths had 
established their power in Spain—even the classic soil of Italy, 
was defiled by the track of these barbarians—the empire w r as in 
ruins— anc [ the light of Christianity itself must have been quench¬ 
ed, could the power and malice of men have brought that curse 
upon the world. But he who conquered death and rose from his 
9 



I w ] 

glorious sepulchre, had promised, that he would be with his church 
to the end of ages, and hell and man have witnessed his fidelity. 
The spirit of Christianity rescued the world a s'econd time, from 
the two fold degradation of barbarism and infidelity. She sent 
her Apostles to the den of these barbarians, to effect that, which 
arts and arms had attempted in vain, to tame the savage, and 
save the world. She cherished the last expiring spark of science, 
and in a happier time, she held it up to enlighten those, whose 
madness would then have extinguished it. In the midst of these 
horrors, when every nation in Europe was bending in ignominious 
servitude, and almost deprived of that religion, which softens and 
mitigates even the sorrows of slavery, the illustrious Apostle of our 
nation appeared. 

Britain claims the honour of his birth—his family was Roman, 
his father held a command in the army of Britain, at that time 
principally recruited from the military colonies, which the policy 
of the Roman government had established in that province, at an 
early period after its subjugation. From a letter which he ad¬ 
dressed to Corotic, a predatory chieftain in Wales, it appears that 
his rank was noble and his possessions considerable. But these 
are circumstances of trifling import in a Christian’s life; a Chris¬ 
tian’s nobility is virtue; a Christian’s home is heaven; the country 
of an Apostle is that where his aid is most required. In his view 
the whole human race is but one family. The glory of God and 
the safety of man so fill the heart, and occupy the mind of an 
Apostle, that he can not stoop to consider the trifling distinctions, 
which vanity or prejudice may have invented to injure and divide 
those, whom reason and religion combine in proclaiming the chil ¬ 
dren of one Father, the creatures of one God, entitled to the same 
glorious and immortal inheritance, through the merits and suffer¬ 
ings of a common Saviour. We know from his book of confes¬ 
sions, that his parents were Christians, and the proofs of extraordi¬ 
nary virtue which marked the commencement of his life, war¬ 
rant us in believing, that they had faithfully attended to his moral 
and religious education. If parents are generally responsible for 
their children’s crimes, they are also justly entitled to share in the 
reward of their virtues; and it will not detract from the fame of 
our Apostle, to divide with his parents the bright and lasting glory 




[ 11 ] 

of having given io a nation the greatest blessing which man can 
be instrumental in securing to his fellow creatures. The illus¬ 
trious men, whose names history has recorded, generally trace 
the origin of their greatness to the parental school; there we find 
their virtues cherished by a parent's fondness, their passions re¬ 
strained by a parent’s solicitude, their principles confirmed, and 
their future course marked out by a parent’s example, rendered 
doubly attractive, by the combined influence of virtue and of love. 
But at an age when others were growing into greatness under 
Such advantages and such security, Patrick had commenced his 
life of public service. God had already called him to a higher 
school. He had already given his mind a direction to immor¬ 
tality, by one of those saving lessons of misery, which wean the 
heart for ever from this world. In h^ sixteenth year he was torn 
from his country and his home by a band of barbarians, and with 
many of his father’s vassals, was carried into Ireland, where these 
wretches found a market for their fellow men. To reason against 
this horrible commerce would be useless, as no second opinion 
can exist on the subject: as well might you reason on murder. 
To reason with Christians on such a crime, would be almost blas¬ 
phemy, as if Christianity could have left a doubt of its enormity— 
as if lie could be a Christian, who had ceased to be a man—as if 
the charity of the gospel could abide in the heart of that monster, 
who could buy or sell his brother. But we have to thank that 
all bounteous God, who can draw good out of evil, for having 
made this crime the occasion of our nation’s conversion. Had he 
not been purchased, his life would, in all probability, have been 
taken by those wretches, who had robbed him of his liberty; had 
he not been purchased in Ireland, that market might not have 
been closed by Christianity against this horrid traffic; had not his 
body been galled by a captive’s chain, he might not have direct¬ 
ed his thoughts to the worse and more degrading slavery of the 
soul. He tells us in his book of Confessions, that it was in the 
hour of suffering, when his body was perishing from the rigours 
of an inclement season, when his heart was breaking for the loss 
of parents, country and liberty, when he wandered through the 
bleak mountains, tending the flock of his barbarous master, when 
all hope of deliverance had died within him; it was then he gave 




[ 12 ] 

liis heart wholly to God. When his hapless lot had taught him 
the instability of earthly blessings, religion lifted his thoughts to 
happiness which cannot change. Amidst the pleasures of the 
world, enjoying in the ease of opulence the attachment of friends, 
and the fondness of parents, he might have offered a divided heart 
to his Maker, but bereft of every joy, surrounded by misery in 
every form, his heart had no object but one, and to that one ob¬ 
ject he devoted it with a fidelity, which has never been surpassed.— 
He had been already a Christian by baptism and education; he 
was now about to become a Christian in spirit and in truth. 

What were the feelings of this illustrious and injured youth? 
Did the blood of his Roman ancestry rush in burning torrents 
through his veins, when he felt himself a slave? Did the image of 
his sorrowing parents present itself to his tortured imagination, 
and call him to avenge the wrongs they endured? Did he seek to 
shorten the hours of his captivity by meditating plans of retribu¬ 
tive justice on his oppressors? Did he employ his time in examin¬ 
ing the coast, and marking the place where, on some future day, 
he might land at the head of his indignant countrymen, to spread 
the miseries of war and extermination through our guilty island? 
Had he so employed himself, we might have found his name 
amongst the most illustrious in history. He might have been what 
the world calls a hero. Such a mode of conduct would have been 
described as manly, spirited and magnanimous. It would indeed 
have been far more magnanimous than the achievements of most 
of those persons who, in ancient and modern times, have worn the 
laurels, and won the name of heroes. It would have been less 
detestable than the atrocious achievements of those men, who, in 
our day, have raised the pillar of their fame on the ruins of Eu¬ 
rope. Patrick had to avenge the greatest wrong which man can 
suffer, and had he acted on human motives, or yielded to the im¬ 
pulse of human feelings, he would have looked forward to ven¬ 
geance. But how little and contemptible are merely human feel¬ 
ings when compared to those which Christianity inspires! How 
mean is the triumph of the conqueror compared to that which 
charity can win! Instead of brooding over his injuries, this youth 
had already devoted himself for the happiness of his persecutors. 
He was planning his return to Ireland, not with the avenging 




[ 13 ] 

sword, but with the saving Gospel—not to requite with slavery 
those who had robbed him of freedom, but to bless them with the 
liberty of the children of God. Would it not seem that Heaven 
had held up to his view the trials which, in future times, awaited 
his flock, in order that succeeding generations should find in his 
life, the great lesson of Christian magnanimity, the great virtue of 
Christian forgiveness? Yes! my countrymen! receive this lesson 
from the life of your Apostle. Though brutal power, and barbar¬ 
ous hands may injure and enslave, it is the command of Christian 
charity, it is the privilege of Christian greatness, it is your pecu¬ 
liar inheritance, descending to you from the Apostle of your coun¬ 
try, not merely to forgive such wrongs, but to requite them with 
full-hearted and unconditional benevolence. 

Having now passed six years in prayer and sufferings, he tells 
us, that the approaching termination of his captivity was made 
known to him in a vision, and that he was directed to proceed to 
the coast, where he should find the means of returning to his coun¬ 
try. He had already experienced the mercy of the Almighty, in 
delivering him from the captivity of sin, and he did not hesitate to 
obey the voice which called him from servitude. He hastened to 
the shore, found a ship ready to sail for Britain, and joy revisited 
the hearts of his afflicted parents. It is not difficult to conceive 
the feelings which this change of fortune must have excited in his 
breast—He had tasted the bitterest draught of misery; he had been 
a slave, and was now free; he had been forced to bear the heaviest 
and the hardest trial that can fall on a man of noble race, of libe¬ 
ral habits, and ample fortune; he had been reduced to dependence; 
he had been forced to crouch to the frown, and endure the lash of 
a ruffian master; he had felt the miseries of cold, hunger, and na¬ 
kedness; he now received the homage of his vassals, and enjoyed 
in the society of his family and friends, every pleasure which opu¬ 
lence could procure. He had, it is true, in his hour of trial, lifted 
his heart to God, and devoted himself to the spiritual aid of his 
enemies. But did not self-love suggest to him that this determina¬ 
tion might have been an illusion—an imprudent effusion of zeal, 
which misery might have extorted from a youthful and care-worn 
heart? Did not self-love tell him, that in forgiving his enemies he 
had already acted a great and Christian part? Did not this syren 





[ 14 ] 

passion insinuate, that wealth and salvation are not incompatible; 
that ease is not inconsistent with virtue; that man may obey all 
the laws of the Gospel, without devoting himself to the perils, and 
crosses, and responsibility of an apostolic life? Did not his pa¬ 
rents adjure him to pity their declining years, and not to plunge 
them back into such unutterable misery as his loss had already 
occasioned? Did not his friends laugh to scorn his infatuated vow, 
to abandon wealth, and rank, and safety, in order to teach a hos¬ 
tile and barbarous people, who would spurn his services, Chain him 
again in slavery, or sacrifice him on the blood-stained altars of their 
gods? Yes! with all these difficulties Patrick had to contend. He 
tells us that nothing was left untried to divert him from his pur¬ 
pose. But his generous soul had caught the flame of charity, as it 
came down from heaven, pure, ardent, inextinguishable. He re¬ 
nounced friends, family, and home. He abandoned what the world 
calls all, and embraced what the world calls folly. He took the 
great, the decisive, the irrevocable step of an Apostle. He left all 
things and followed Christ. “ I have chosen you.” Charity call¬ 
ed him to the apostleship, and charity is God, and God is charity. 

But the spirit which called Patrick to the apostleship taught him, 
that zeal alone could not qualify him to discharge the duties of that 
great and perilous office. The history of his life presents us with 
nothing of the folly or rashness of blind , and intemperate fanati¬ 
cism. He did not attempt to ascend the holy mountain, until en¬ 
couraged by the call, supported by the strength, and enlightened 
by the glory of him who was on its summit. He felt that the struc¬ 
ture of apostolic virtue rises in proportion to the solidity of its base: 
that an edifice whose top is to reach the heavens, can be secured 
only by a broad and firm foundation. He knew that the operations 
of grace, like those of nature and reason, are gradual and consist¬ 
ent; that there is nothing sudden, nothing rash, nothing dispro- 
portioned in the spiritual life; that it rises from infancy to matu¬ 
rity, progressively and securely. Patrick had all the zeal of an 
Apostle; but he had not yet acquired that knowledge necessary to 
that character. Learning is to the priesthood an indispensable 
qualification. Not that learning, which merely serves to extend the 
sphere and multiply the objects of pleasure; which only enables 
us to idle more agreeably, and gives a quicker relish for refined 




t 15 ] 

amusement. Not that learning whfch tempts us to look down with 
fastidious disregard on those, whom God has formed for immor¬ 
tality, and Christ has died to save. Not that unmeaning pedantry, 
without any object, rational or religious, which wastes the light 
which should guide ourselves and others to heaven, in a childish 
pursuit of trifles, until light and life are both extinguished in death. 
The learning to which our Apostle aspired, was the knowledge of 
Christ and his law; that knowledge which should multiply his 
means of reaching heaven, and of securing to his fellow-creatures 
that glorious consummation; that learning which should enable him 
to detect the fallacy of error, to pour the light of evidence around 
truth, to remove the doubts of the wavering and the darkness of 
the ignorant. Fortunately for the world, the barbarous invaders 
from the north, though they found it easy to level the thrones of 
kings, could not succeed in destroying the religion of Christ; 
hence the torch of science is now blazing through Eiirope. We 
can pity ignorance; but we must despise and abhor the base in¬ 
gratitude, the mean and illiberal vanity of those who blush to ac¬ 
knowledge where that torch was lighted. No press then facilita¬ 
ted the diffusion of learning. No university then existed, where 
science, living and concentrated, opened its halls to the aspirant af¬ 
ter learning. Within the cloister the sacred fire had been preserv¬ 
ed. To those hallowed retreats of sanctity and wisdom are we in¬ 
debted for all that we possess of knowledge, sacred and profane. 
To them are we indebted for the poetry, the oratory, the philoso¬ 
phy of Greece and Rome. To them are we indebted for the im¬ 
mortal works of the fathers of the Christian church. To their 
fearless zeal and generous devotion Heaven committed, in those 
days of war and violence, the sacred Gospel itself. No wonder 
then that a shallow and presumptuous philosophy, which has 
brought nothing but curses to the world, should have directed its 
pointless and despicable invectives against these wise and sacred 
institutions. No wonder that the monks and the cloister should 
be honoured with the hostility of those vulgar and short sighted 
politicians, whose first and leading principle is self-interest, whose 
utmost refinement in political economy is robbery. The happiness 
and prosperity of a nation never did rise, never will rise from the 
ruins of such establishments; and should they sink, even the de~ 



[ 1G ] 

generate race, which shall consent to their fall, will discover, when 
too late, that the provident, the beneficent, the Christian spirit 
which called them into existence, is but badly and unwisely ex¬ 
changed for the sophistry hnd the dagger of withered and heart¬ 
less infidelity. 

To qualify himself for the arduous work to which he had devo¬ 
ted his life, our illustrious Apostle left his Country, and passing 
into France, assumed the religious habit in the great monastery 
which St. Martin had established at Tours. In this asylum, sa¬ 
cred to solitude, piety and learning, he remained for six years. 
When we consider the motives which led him to this great semi¬ 
nary, the ardour which urged him to commence his apostolic la¬ 
bours, that he brought to his studies great talents, and an undivi¬ 
ded heart, we might be led to conclude, that every essential lite¬ 
rary acquirement, must have been attained within that period. 
But our Saint had formed a juster notion of the important duty for 
which he was preparing. He felt its fearful responsibility. He 
knew that whatever is to be great and permanent, is slow in 
growth and advances gradually to perfection, and that learning 
rapidly acquired, is quickly forgotten. As well might you expect 
fruit, before the tree expands its foliage, or the blossom appears, 
as to look for maturity of Christian knowledge from him, whose 
soul has scarcely yet received the life giving seed of the wwd of 
God, whose heart has scarcely felt that prolific heat which quick¬ 
ens the seed to life, and advances it to ripeness. He did not of¬ 
fer himself as a light to the Gentiles, until the author of light had 
shed its brightest and most ardent rays on his soul. He made the 
inspired writings the subject of his most constant and intense me¬ 
ditation, and to fix their spirit more deeply in his heart, he sought 
the acquaintance of those most distinguished in his time, for sanc¬ 
tity and erudition. For this purpose he passed into Italy, where 
religion and science have found in every age their brightest orna¬ 
ments. The travels of Patrick were not undertaken with any 
view to the gratification of idle curiosity—not to trace the battle¬ 
field where the fate of nations had been decided—not to bend 
over a poet’s tomb, nor stand in the theatre where oratory had 
triumphed. No! his was a wiser, a nobler, a holier purpose. He 
came to take from Italy, not the drawing of a ruined temple or a 





[ 17 3 

triumphal arch, but to bear to our benighted country the true wis¬ 
dom of the gospel, to till his mind with the eloquence of an Am¬ 
brose, to kindle his zeal on the classic ground of Christianity, 
covered as it was with the monuments of Christian victory, the 
glorious records of its martyrs’ courage and its virgin’s purity. 
He came to the city where a Paul had preached, and which a 
Peter had blessed with all his wisdom and all his blood. Our 
Apostle viewed the fragments of ruined greatness, not with the 
morbid and sickly sensibility of a heart, wedded to lower things; 
he saw them as the destroying angel will see a sinking world. He 
said in his heart, these things are not worth a tear, and looked up 
to him who liveth for ever and ever. Man in ruins is the only 
object which can find interest in an Apostle’s heart. 

He had now laboured for many years, to attain those qualifica¬ 
tions, without which a preacher of the gospel, instead of guiding 
others to safety, may be the occasion of incalculable and irretrieva¬ 
ble mischief. He knew that the divine constitution of the Chris¬ 
tian church was so formed, as to protect mankind from the rash¬ 
ness of presumption and the intemperance of imaginary zeal. He 
knew that the legitimate preaching of the gospel was, from the 
beginning, a charge founded on commission, originating in Christ, 
and continued in those whom the Holy Ghost had placed tc bishops 
to rule the church of God.” He knew that Saint Paul, though 
called from Heaven to the apostleship, did not consider himself 
warranted to pass by him, whom Christ had placed supreme in 
power, even amongst the apostles; that he came to Jerusalem to 
profess life subjection to Peter, “ lest (as he says) I should run, 
or had run in vain.” He knew that Saint Paul, writing to the 
Romans on the preaching and preachers of the gospel, had said, 
u how can men believe him of whom they have not heard, and 
how shall they hear without a preacher, and how can they preach 
unless they be sent?” He knew that the perpetuity promised by 
Christ to his church, did not rest on a better foundation than the 
primacy of power and jurisdiction conferred by Christ on Peter: 
that as the church did not perish when the Apostles died, neither 
did the primacy die with Peter: that no man can be a minister of 
the church, whose ministry is not sanctioned by, and derived from, 
and in communion with the head of the church. He knew that 

3 





[ 18 ] 

from the (lays of the apostles to his own, the church had never 
tolerated any encroachment on this system of divine legislation. 
He knew that whoever ventured to take on him the preaching of 
the gospel, without being sent; whoever, like Core, dared to seize 
with jBii unblessed hand, the sacred censer; whoever presumed tQ 
usurp the authority of the Christian ministry, the spirit of Christi¬ 
anity cast him from her communion: and history told him, that 
these rash and sacrilegious members had withered and died, when 
separated from that body, which the spirit of truth must animate, 
and the presence of Christ must preserve to the end of time. Im¬ 
pressed with a full conviction of the truth of this doctrine, and 
anxious to secure to his apostleship the sanction of legitimate au¬ 
thority and the promise of lasting fruit, our illustrious Saint sub¬ 
mitted his design to Pope Celestine, who then sat in the chair, 
and inherited the power of Peter. That venerable Pontiff, whose 
apostolic zeal for the conversion of nations, history has applauded, 
had been long praying the Lord of the harvest, to send forth la¬ 
bourers to carry the tidings of redemption to our country. He 
embraced our saint as a messenger sent from God to relieve his 
pastoral anxiety, and bring a great nation to his saving fold. He 
promoted him to orders, raised him to the episcopal dignity, and 
sent him forth to kindle that fire, whose heat is charity, and whose 
light is truth; that fire which Christ came “ to send on the earth, 
and which the devastation of war had nearly extinguished in blood, 
or the march of barbarism had involved in darkness, in those 
countries, which had flourished for ages under its salutary influ¬ 
ence. 

Having now received the apostolic commission: being “ chosen 
and appointed to go and bring forth fruit,” he obeyed the impulse 
of that charity which had so long burned in his heart. He re¬ 
passed the Alps, cheered by the presentiment of victory, though 
dangers the most appalling and difficulties almost insuperable, 
stood in his way, and seemed to forbid his hopes. Had his apos¬ 
tolic commission directed him to a people, relaxed and weakened 
by the softness and sensuality of effeminate habits, he might che¬ 
rish the hope of reclaiming them; for in the most depraved heart 
there is a sense of shame, a feeling of disgust, which makes a 
party with virtue, joins the gospel and loathes sensual turpitude, as 




f >9 ] 

unworthy of man. Had he been sent to a nation enlightened by 
science, living under civilized institutions, inured to order and 
accustomed to obedience; the wisdom of the gospel, its sublime 
view of man’s nature, its pure and lofty morality, must not on¬ 
ly have obtained a respectful hearing, but have commanded re¬ 
verence and extorted applause from the wise and the good. But 
no facility of this kind opened to him a prospect of success. He 
had to preach the gospel to a people, whose institutions, civil, po¬ 
litical and religious, were founded on principles which reason and 
Christianity condemn. He had to preach charity and peace to a 
people then proverbially ferocious, and at all times instinctively 
martial. He had to preach justice to a people, who had lived for 
ages on the plunder of their neighbours. He had to preach meek¬ 
ness and resignation to men, who knew no law but their will, no 
judge but the sword, no vileness equal to that of leaving an insult 
unavenged. He had to preach Christianity to a people, who had 
never heard the voice of religion, but in the blood stained field, 
when the haggard form and maddening appeal of the druid priest, 
called them to victory or death. Such was the state of Ireland 
when Patrick landed on its shore in the year 432. 

He did not go as they went, who brought ruin under the pre¬ 
tence of carrying Christianity to America, with the sword in one 
hand and the gospel in the other. He did not go forth, as more 
modern preachers have gone, protected by the arms and supported 
by the active co-operation of a great empire. He could not com¬ 
mand the resources of missionary associations. His bark was not 
freighted with bibles nor his mission armed with power. He had 
no means to bribe the avaricious, nor to affright the timid, nor to 
overawe the obstinate into a seeming acquiescence in his doctrine. 
Had he approached our nation in such a way, the result of his 
labours would have proved what history has confirmed and expe¬ 
rience is confirming, that the arm of flesh is weak, and the wis¬ 
dom of the world is folly, when they attempt to force religion on 
man. Such means may produce h} r pocrites. God alone can 
make Christians. Patrick carried a living gospel in his heart. 
He came to our nation in the power of Christ, and they bent their 
unconquered necks to his yoke. He came in the simplicity of an 
Apostle^ professing himself as nothing, but proclaiming the om ■ 



[ 20 1 

nipotent majesty of his master, declaring that he could do all things 
in Christ who strengthened him, and he established the truth of 
that, declaration, by the most striking monument which any indi¬ 
vidual, since the days of the Apostles, had raised to the power and 
majesty of the deity—the conversion of an entire nation effected 
by his single exertions. He preached the charity of the gospel to 
our fathers, and his return to bless a country where he had en ¬ 
dured the miseries of slavery, presented such an exalted commen¬ 
tary on that virtue, as rendered its worth self-evident and its 
charms irresistible. He preached “ Christ crucified,” and our 
brave ancestors found in the mystery of redemption a virtue so far 
exalted above the powers of human nature; they found courage, 
compassion, and mercy so sublimated, so divine, so much above 
the utmost reach of their conception, that they destroyed their al¬ 
tars, abjured their false Gods, took to their hearts, and for ever, 
the cross of mercy and the law of Christ. He preached the pure 
morality of the gospel, and supported his preaching by the evidence 
of a conduct so blameless, that the duties which he enforced by his 
eloquence, were more strongly reflected from his life. No labour 
appeared to affect, no reverse to discourage, no danger to intimi¬ 
date this extraordinary man. The fears of the weak, the terrors 
of the superstitious, the time-serving policy of the great, the for¬ 
midable hostility of the druids, were all brought to bear against 
him. But opposition only served to quicken his zeal, and danger 
to call forth his courage. He had laid up his treasure in another 
world, seemed utterly regardless of this, and was always prepared 
to devote his life for the gospel. After having passed to every part 
of the island with a rapidity which nothing but an Apostle’s spi¬ 
rit could render practicable; after having spread the light and ad¬ 
ministered the consolation of religion to the barbarians in their 
forests, he met the majesty of the nation at Tara, and the monarch, 
and his vassal kings, listened with reverence to this wondrous 
stranger, whilst he opened to their ambition a new road to glory, 
and presented to their hopes an object, which until then, they had 
never known. Such was the activity of his zeal, that in forty years, 
he converted an entire nation, and filled it with institutions which 
evince more than the ordinary success of an Apostle. He not 
only enforced obedience to the precepts of Christian morality, but 


f 21 3 

led his people to practise the sublime counsels of gospel perfec¬ 
tion. He founded religious establishments, where persons from 
every rank in society devoted themselves to the cultivation of vir¬ 
tue in its utmost refinement, to virgin purity, to perfect self-denial, 
to an unqualified renunciation of property and independence. Af¬ 
ter having endured all the trials and privations of an apostolic life, 
contempt, imprisonment, every thing but the martyr’s death, which 
his zeal had so often provoked, Heaven blessed his labours with 
success never surpassed, and equalled only by the first disciples of 
Christ. He had fought the good fight, he had kept the faith, he 
was finishing his course. He could look back with pleasure and 
forward with hope. He was preparing to offer up his soul into the 
hands of his Maker, and he had enhanced the value of that offer¬ 
ing by the most acceptable tribute which man could present to 
the deity—an entire people reclaimed, converted, and regenera¬ 
ted. This good and faithful servant had improved the talents 
committed to him with such industry, that when the giver of the 
talents came to demand his account, he had not merely to say, 

Lord, thou hast delivered to me five talents, behold I have gained 
other five over and above”—he could say, Lord I have, by thy 
grace multiplied these talents incalculably—I have purchased for 
thee a great people—I have ensured, with these talents, the safety 
of millions and generations to come. Yes, my countrymen! the 
seed which he committed to our soil did not produce a weed, 
which rises and flourishes and dies in a season. It grew up like 
our oak, advanced gradually to maturity, to live on for ages and 
enjoy immortality. He was not, what the Apostle called the false 
teachers of his day, a wandering star, a light and fleeting meteor, 
rising, dazzling, and disappearing, leaving no blessing on earth, 
no track in the heavens, no impression on man but that of surprise 
and disappointment. Patrick rose on the moral horizon of our 
country, as the sun rises in the heavens, with ease and with ma¬ 
jesty. He moved through his course, enlightening, cheering, fer¬ 
tilizing. And when he had done the service for which he was 
chosen, and left us a blessing, which w r e will keep until his next 
appearance, he set in cloudless glory. 

The last test of the apostolic character is the permanence of 
his work—“ I have appointed you, that you should produce fruit, 







[ 22 ] 

and that your fruit should remain .” The monument which guides 
us to an apostle’s grave is the fruit of his toil. And who ever 
raised a more glorious monument to the apostleship than Saint 
Patrick? Does it not stand lofty and unbent after 1400 years? 
Has time corroded, has violence shaken it? Does not the flock of 
Patrick stand forth a bright and almost a solitary monument of 
fidelity, which no bribe could corrupt, no persecution could affright, 
no temptation could seduce from the faith which they had once 
received ? Had not Saint Paul written his Epistles, what monu¬ 
ment remains to attest, that the name and glory of Christ had 
ever been proclaimed at Athens, at Corinth, at Thessalonica or 
Philippi? Not one. Had not the sacred scriptures informed us, 
that all the Apostles, with united zeal, and tender solicitude, guard¬ 
ed for many years the cradle of Christians in Jerusalem; that this 
native vineyard of the Lord had been cultivated by the combined 
industry of all those, on whom the Holy Ghost descended in vi¬ 
sible glory, how could we believe it? What living monument re¬ 
mains to bear evidence to their labours? None whatever. Blas¬ 
phemy rules in the city where the sufferings of Christ atoned for 
the sins of the w T orld. Did we not know from history, that the be¬ 
loved disciple John, lived for nearly a century in Asia Minor; that 
he established churches throughout all that region; that the vast 
numbers whom his irresistible charity attracted to the faith, were 
enlightened and confirmed by his sublime theology, what but the 
testimony of history could induce us to believe it? Does there ex¬ 
ist a living monument to attest these facts? No!—the very name 
of Christ is almost forgotten there* Had the writings of Clement* 
of Cyril, of Origen and Athanasius been lost, what could induce 
ns to believe, that the church of Alexandria had been founded by 
Mark the Evangelist? that Egypt was filled with Christians? that 
its very deserts breathed the odour of sanctity? There is no living 
evidence to these incontestible facts. Pagan robbers and brutal 
Mahometans now fill that country, which Christianity more than 
its pyramids, had made the wonder of the world. All these 
churches have perished* and perished ingloriously. But the church 
of Ireland like the universal church of Christ, of which it forms 
so interesting a portion, grew and flourished under persecution. 
Patrick planted the tree of Christianity in no shifting and sandy 






[ 23 ] 

soil. Storms only served to fix its roots more deeply in our Is- 
land. Not a branch of it would have yielded, scarcely would its 
leaves have been affected by such a force, as proved sufficient to 
sweep every trace of the catholic religion from other countries. 
Other Christians have confessed their faith, when to confess it was 
an honour and a profit even before men; but in the day of its trial 
and distress, they meanly and wickedly abjured it. But our great, 
our admirable, our immortal ancestors clung to it under all cir¬ 
cumstances. They loved their religion in its splendour, but they 
loved it better in its humiliation. They reserved their most sa¬ 
cred, their most inviolable, their most invincible attachment for 
that time, when the cross of redemption became a badge of in¬ 
famy, when to profess the catholic religion was treason, when the 
very name oil catholic doomed him who bore it, to an ignominious 
grave. Oh no! My countrymen! The death of your ancestors 
was not ignominious. It was the death of the saints—the death 
of the brave and the faithful—and what are arts, what is science, 
what is victory, what is empire, when compared to such a death? 

Father of our country! sacred and venerated Apostle! Obtain, 
we beseech thee, pardon for our offences, pity for our degeneracy. 
Obtain for us a just sense of gratitude for that priceless treasure 
which thy ministry has deposited amongst us. Obtain for all the 
children of Ireland temporal and eternal happiness. Teach them, 
O God, to love one another, grant them peace, and charity, and 
Christian benevolence, through thy dear Son and our Saviour 
Christ Jesus. Amen- 







IMPRIMATUR 

Si videbitur Rmo P. Magistro Sacri Palatii Aposioiici. 
Candidus JWciria Fraltini Archicpiscopus Philippensic Vicesgetens. 

APPROYAZIONE. 

Ex commissione Rmi Patris Magistri, Fr. Pit Mauritii Yiviani, 
S. Ordinis Praidicatorum Pro-Vicarii & Procuratoris Generalis, 
banc Orationem Penegyricam attente legimus, & in eo nihil 
prorsus reperimus, quod vel Catholicae Fidei, vel bonis moribus 
adversetur. Romas ad S. Marias Pacis, XV. Kalendas Aprilis, 
Anno Domini 1821. 

Robertas Waterfordiensis & Lismoriensis Episcopus; 

Fr. Franciscus Josephus O'Finan 0. P. 

IMPRIMATUR 

Fr. Philippus Anfossi Sacri Palatii Aposioiici Magisiter. 









































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